So I’m snuggled under the soft sheet of my raised bed. Got Polly, got my little IKEA lamp, and things seem good. My window right in front of me is possibly my favorite spot in the room. There’s a tiny window seat I can wedge myself into, that I plan on decking out with pillows. I can see me tucking myself into that nook to read The Fountainhead and watch the occasional car putter down the street below. Los Angeles is out my window, guys. And I’m really happy about it.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m scared shitless. I’m starting college for god’s sake. There are a million things I need to be doing, and checking out, and paying for. There are a million more things in the rapidly approaching future that will freak me out on a whole other level. Occasionally I am overcome with fits of loneliness. Like someone didn’t ask me to go down with them to the pancake breakfast and suddenly the entire world has it’s back to you. My room is still a bit of a mess and I have five boxes being shipped from Indy. I can’t find the two books of stamps my father bought for me. Classes start Monday. I can tell already that the freshmen15 is going to be an uphill battle. Chocolate reserves have been initiated. And my dinner of mushroom tortellini, stir-fried tofu, and a chocolate chip cookie at the caf upset my stomach and left me incredibly gassy for the rest of this evening.

But there are so many good moments. I want to say so many more good moments. Like sharing a mirror with my suitemate while I washed my face in the morning. Slicing my banana at breakfast on the quad. The sunshine filtering through the leaves above me at convocation. Throngs of very attractive, potentially douchebagerous boys. On a similar strain, hunkyhunky electric violinist. Going to IKEA for the first time. The cinema departmental meetings, listening to deans telling us how we’re soon going to be losing all our free time and how important failing is and only the comfortable should be scared. I’m far from comfortable. At the convocation, sitting next to a Minnesotan Unitarian who also loves NPR and Garrison Keillor.

I stopped by a map to see if I was headed in the right direction. A girl was already there, talking to someone on her phone about being unable to get to the same place I was going. So I just tapped her on the shoulder, said I was making my way to the same building, and offered to walk with her. I can’t emphasize how important it is just to shove yourself at people. A Marion of years past would have eyed this girl, but not spoken. So, yeah, I was really proud of that. And on Sunday we plan on walking our schedule together. That’s if she can find me on facebook. She might not know how to spell Marion [I’ve gotten Marilyn about twice]. I tried looking for her, but there are a lot of Hannah’s.